


Leaving it Up to You

by kuroowl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Study, Fluff, Friendship, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Social Anxiety, i can't get enough of these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroowl/pseuds/kuroowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roaring with laughter, Bokuto turned to Akaashi for a high five, and Akaashi let his hand tap against Bokuto’s. And for a moment it was like Akaashi was flying too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be a drabble and then I wrote way too much.

Akaashi wasn’t a big fan of noise. It gave him more headaches than comfort. Akaashi was sure he would own earplugs if the school allowed them. He had tried wearing them to school once, but had ripped them out the moment he had spotted a teacher, too afraid to take the chance. In conclusion, Akaashi wasn’t a big fan of noise.

Which is why it was so surprising when he found himself liking Bokuto as more than a teammate.

And Bokuto was _large_. His persona could take up the whole court. He was the kind of player that demanded attention. His hand hitting the ball sucked in all eyes. His whoop after every point begged for ears. His hair was a pointy mess that asked for help.

(Akaashi knew Bokuto gelled it every day for at least an hour. He had received the _before_ and a _fter_ pictures.)

Bokuto also found more interest in Akaashi than any other teammate. Akaashi imagined it was because of his stellar personality. It wasn’t that Akaashi was shy, or hated people, he simply never found the need to talk more than he had to. He also just… didn’t know how. He wasn’t very good at it. And sometimes his heart would pound too hard when called on in class, sometimes his back and hands would get too hot when someone said his name, and sometimes Akaashi felt the need to go and hide more than to stay and talk.

Many times someone would comment on his passive face but it wasn’t as if Akaashi was Bokuto, he didn’t need a smile plastered on every moment, or a weeping brow any time he was sad. And maybe that was why Bokuto glued himself to Akaashi the moment Akaashi came into his vision. His passiveness balanced out Bokuto, kept him tethered to reality. Just like how Bokuto let Akaashi float, let him know what the world could be like if he just opened the door a bit more.

“Akaashi!” said - more like yelled - Bokuto. Akaashi held back a flinch. Bokuto, wearing his shirt backwards, his tie crumpled up in his hand, his eyes warm and filled with bright, _bright_ noise, just for him, for Akaashi, marched over to him with a grin. “Can you help me with my tie? I woke up late today.”

Akaashi looked to the ceiling hoping someone up there wasn’t laughing.

“Your shirt is backwards.” murmured Akaashi. Bokuto glanced down.

“Oh!” Bokuto ripped off his shirt, revealing toned skin. Akaashi bit his lip. This was his punishment for bringing in those earplugs that one time. He didn’t deserve this. “Thanks!”

“Bokuto-san please.” Akaashi resisted covering his eyes. He could do this. At least he shared no classes with the boy.

“The bell hasn’t rung yet! Don’t be such a time hound Akaashi!” Bokuto held out the tie to him with an expectant grin. Akaashi had quickly learned in his first year that Bokuto had many grins. He had also learned that no one else had bothered to learn them except him. Sighing, he placed the hole of the tie around Bokuto’s neck, making sure his fingers wouldn’t tremble and swiftly placed a knot before stepping back. Bokuto beamed. Akaashi tried not to smooth out his rumpled shirt.

He tried to imagine a year without him. He quickly tried to _not_ imagine a year without him.

The bell rang.

“See ya Akaashi!” yelled Bokuto as he ran away. Away from Akaashi who was suddenly breathing a little heavier than he should have been.  

 ***

Bokuto was always late. He had all these excuses too: a confession, food, got stuck in his uniform, bathroom, a confession. Komi would snort and say,

“If a girl is confessing to you then I must be 200 cm. tall.”

Bokuto spluttered and Akaashi would wonder why no _boy_ had ever confessed to Bokuto. Surely, he couldn’t be the only one. Unless he was. Akaashi shivered.

Practice started out with drills and ended with three-on-three matches. Sometimes if they were lucky they would get to practice with another nearby school, but with training camp coming up soon, the team wasn’t too desperate.

Akaashi lifted up a ball and let it roll on his palms.

He hadn’t liked volleyball much until he had reached high school (and had met Bokuto). It had always been a pastime, something to fill the hours, a place to think about anything but school, and the future, and how he didn’t like girls as much as other boys did.

He had chosen the sport in his second year of junior high when his father had told him to stop lazing around at home, and to go out and join some sort of after school activity. Akaashi had roamed the halls after school the very next day, searching for something to fill his time, something to please his parents and not let them know how little Akaashi was really interested in.

He had been passing the gym when he heard the squeaks of sneakers, the thumps of balls, the sound of boys calling to each other. Akaashi paused. The door was slightly open and without thinking Akaashi found himself closer to the doors than he had planned.

He glanced inside, saw volleyballs flying, saw boys running, a coach standing with his arms crossed and thought, _why not?_

Two years later and he was in high school, once more signing up for the sport, thinking there weren’t many things he was good at but volleyball was one of them and he might as well not disappoint his parents by quitting.

He hadn’t expected Bokuto. He hadn’t expected all the noise.

“HIYA!” shouted Bokuto, his palm fitting against the ball before it slammed into the court, bouncing away into the wall. “HA! Wait till Kuroo has to block that.”

“Wait for a receiver Bokuto!” said Washio. He grumbled as he went to pick up the ball that had rolled near the bleachers.

“Come on Komi! Training camp is just around the corner and we need to crush all of them! Especially Kuroo!” Bokuto bounced on his heels, glancing at Akaashi who slowly got another ball. “See? Even Akaashi is more prepared than you!”

Bokuto was an exclamation point - Akaashi had decided - Bokuto didn’t feel lightly, he felt with everything he had. He played as if the world depended on him. He spoke as if every vowel was his last. Akaashi wished he wasn’t so much as a comma – a pause, a hesitant force – and more like Bokuto, something big, something that jumped on the page.

“Isn’t that new school coming too? Karasuno? They almost beat Aobajousai, right?” said Sarakui, his lips moving up into a gentle smile. Komi stared for a moment before coughing and Akaashi frowned. Did he like…? No. That couldn’t be it.    

“YEAH!” shouted Bokuto. “WE NEED TO BEAT THEM TOO!”

"Calm your balls Bokuto.” Komi straightened out his knee pad. He crouched down a little, readied his hands and said,

"Alright, come at me.”

"Wait,” said Akaashi. “Onaga, you too, you need to practice blocking.”

"Y-yes sir!” said Onaga before running in front of the court. Akaashi sighed. He didn’t need the title.

Akaashi let the ball fly; Bokuto snatched it from the air like it was his and only his and smashed it through Onaga’s hands and off of Komi’s. Roaring with laughter, Bokuto turned to Akaashi for a high five, and Akaashi let his hand tap against Bokuto’s. And for a moment it was like Akaashi was flying too. 

For a moment.

Komi cursed, “Washio! Why don’t you stop stalling and come and help Onaga. We need to wipe that grin off of Bokuto’s face.”

Bokuto laughed louder.

Akaashi felt like his heart was getting a bit lighter and heavier at the same time.

 ***

It wasn’t to avoid Bokuto. No. Not because Bokuto was changing or anything and sometimes he’d pour water down his back and it would glide down his skin to the waistband of his shorts. Not at all.

Akaashi ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. He needed to get a grip. He couldn’t go around, avoiding Bokuto as if it would somehow get rid of his feelings because one: Bokuto would figure it out in an hour and two: they practiced together every day.

Akaashi figured the least he could do was not watch Bokuto change.

“AKAASHI!” Someone called, no, not someone, Bokuto. It was always Bokuto. When had it not been Bokuto? Akaashi slowed down, but didn’t stop. Maybe, if he didn’t stop, Bokuto would somehow realize that Akaashi really didn’t want to see him. Not now.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and Akaashi jumped more at the fact that his heart was already pounding rather than Bokuto’s warmth bleeding through his thin jacket.

“Why’d you run out of there?” asked Bokuto. He wasn’t even out of breath. Akaashi looked away.

“Lot of homework.”

“Ah. Second year sure was tough.” said Bokuto, wistful. Akaashi was again hit with the fact that Bokuto was a third year and Akaashi wasn’t. Bokuto would be leaving after Spring High and Akaashi wouldn’t be. Bokuto’s last training camp was this year and Akaashi’s was next. Akaashi felt the pit in his stomach grow and he tried to push it all away. _Not now_. Not with Bokuto breathing softly right next to him, his eyes soft under the streetlamps. “You’ll get through it. I know you Akaashi, you’re very smart.”

 “Thank you Bokuto-san.” Was he whispering? Akaashi wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of a lot of things around Bokuto.

“Say, Akaashi,” started Bokuto.

“Yes?”

“Next year. Will you miss me?”

If Akaashi pushed Bokuto hard enough, the shock of the impact would let him get away before Bokuto could catch up, and then he wouldn’t have to answer the question. Akaashi swallowed.

“Yes.” Because what else could he say? He couldn’t lie to Bokuto, not right to his face, not when his voice sounded so soft. Bokuto was either up or down, he was lying on the floor crying about a missed shot, or roaring about how good his orange juice tasted. Bokuto was Bokuto and Akaashi was more than sure that he would not only miss Bokuto but also not know how to move on without him.

Bokuto had introduced him to the world that was really volleyball.

First practice of his first year on the second day of school, Akaashi walked into the gym and there he was. Tall, loud, black and white hair, slamming his palm against a ball, flinging it into the court.

“That was out!” called another player.  

“Damn!” cursed Bokuto, slapping his hand into his face, rubbing it through his hair.

“Come on Bokuto. The first years are here.” an older man said. The coach, Akaashi assumed. Bokuto, still mumbling under his breath, stepped away from the court and stood with the others to greet the first years. Akaashi tried not to stare and to pay more attention to what the coach was saying.

“Ah, you’re a setter aren’t you?” Bokuto had come up at Akaashi after introductions, when all the first years had said their name and preferred positions. He sounded excited like a child had been offered candy. “Come practice with me!”

Akaashi paused and stared. All the other first years were on the other court, waiting for the coach to come and watch them all practice to see who would be the reserves or maybe, if they were good enough, first string.       

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said politely, “But I have to go and join-“

"Screw that! I want to hit off of your toss.”

“May I ask why?”

“You’re new. And different. Different tosses mean different hits.” Bokuto explained and Akaashi thought about how loud that volleyball had sounded, slamming into the floor, as if that was the sound the ball was supposed to make every time and no one else could do it but Bokuto.

Akaashi decided to give Bokuto one toss and if he got in trouble, well, Bokuto had forced him really.

He picked up a ball, let it roll in his hands, and caught Bokuto’s eager gaze, his shaking arms and bouncing toes. He looked so ready, for Akaashi, a boy who had never been the center of someone’s attention. Akaashi, who didn’t really know how to talk to others, who found socializing harder than it should have been, who thought, that if he left the world tomorrow, not many people would even care.

Akaashi threw the ball and Bokuto’s palm filled the space and whipped down so hard that everything was a blur. The ball bounced into a straight line down the court and into the wall, smashing back towards the net, and coming to a halt near another player’s feet.

There was silence, the kind Akaashi could never get enough of, and then Bokuto’s loud whoop of delight. Other players were moving closer, whispering, wide eyed, and looking at Akaashi and Bokuto but also _Akaashi_. Akaashi had never felt so many stares, had never felt so noticed. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, but with Bokuto jumping around, screaming like he had just won the world, he wasn’t sure he hated it either.

Bokuto ran towards him, both hands up, eyes large with delight, and Akaashi’s arms were rising too. Their palms smacked together and Akaashi finally felt like volleyball could be _something_.

All the noise that surrounded Bokuto… Akaashi didn’t hate it as much as he usually would have.

He could certainly play volleyball for the next three years if it meant he was with Bokuto.

Of course, the first time was just a fluke. Akaashi was still a first year and he wasn’t a genius or star player. There was already a third year setter. Although that earth shaking hit with Bokuto did get him a spot in the reserves. He even played a game once that year.

Bokuto though, he didn’t give a shit about Akaashi’s standings on the team. After that one set he only wanted to practice with Akaashi. It was dumb and he was shouted at multiple times by the coach, the third years, Komi, and Akaashi (though Akaashi didn’t shout so much as talk in an irritated voice) but sometimes he would ask Akaashi to stay after practice and Akaashi would set to him for hours until his arms ached and his eyes drooped.

“Next year, you’ll be the official setter,” said Bokuto grinning. They were drinking water after two hours of practicing alone on the court. Everyone else was long gone. “And I’ll be hitting every ball you set.”

“There are other players Bokuto-san.” Akaashi pointed out.

“Yeah! I guess. But I’m gonna be the ace!” Bokuto pointed at him fiercely.

“How do you know that? Washio is pretty good.” teased Akaashi, but his voice was still as passive as it had been before. He hoped Bokuto would be able to tell he was joking. It was obvious to everyone who would be the next ace.

“Nah. With you setting the balls for me. I’ll definitely be the ace.”

Akaashi’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so needed by someone. He wasn’t a boy people relied on. It was odd to have someone think so highly of him. He felt his neck grow warm.

“Let’s clean up.” said Akaashi. He couldn’t look Bokuto in the eye.

 ***

“I’ll miss you too, you know?” said Bokuto, rubbing his neck; his mouth was twisted into something unpleasant. “No one can really handle me as well as you do. Other than Kuroo, but Kuroo’s sometimes just as bad as me.”

“You’ll be fine Bokuto-san.” murmured Akaashi. It was true. Bokuto had a knack for fitting in everywhere. He wouldn’t find it hard to make friends. Bokuto would be the center of attention from day one. And Akaashi would be nowhere close to see it.

“Ah, you can drop the honorifics Akaashi. I think those lost meaning a while ago.”

They had. Akaashi had picked Bokuto up from the floor so many times he had lost count. Bokuto had the tendency to take all the blame, to shoulder his losses like they were his duty, to take each blow to the team straight to his heart. Akaashi lost track of the number of times he had picked up Bokuto from the floor of the shower in the locker rooms, dried him off, got him into new clothes, and marched him home.

Bokuto got upset on the court too. It was common for him to get into his dejected mode and for the rest of the team to take the burden they never asked Bokuto to carry and replace him for the time necessary. But it was different off court. It was different when the whole team wasn’t in the same place. It was different when it was just Akaashi and Bokuto, and Bokuto was sobbing about how terrible he was, how he didn’t deserve to be an ace, didn’t deserve to be on the team.

“Do you know where you’re going after this?” asked Akaashi because he had to. They were near his house. Akaashi wished he lived further away. It was rare to see Bokuto calm, to see him fall back from exclamation points. Akaashi would never admit it but he loved that he was the only one who got to see it.

“University. I was scouted during Interhigh and I’ve already applied. I won’t know till after Spring High, so I’ve got time. I’ll be staying close to Kanto though.”        

 _Good_ , Akaashi thought. Bokuto would visit; he wouldn’t be Bokuto if he didn’t. Akaashi wouldn’t lose him altogether. Unless he blurted out that he loved him, but Akaashi knew how to hold his tongue.

“That’s good.” said Akaashi softly. The summer air was already causing sweat to line the skin of his neck.

“Don’t worry!” Bokuto laughed loudly. “I’ll visit every week!”

“Maybe not every week Bokuto-san, you still need to focus on your studies.”

Bokuto laughed. They reached Akaashi’s home and for a moment Akaashi was sure he could convince Bokuto he lived further down and they could walk together for a longer period of time and talk and Akaashi’s hand might brush Bokuto’s and-

Akaashi bit the inside of his cheek. He needed to stop thinking all together.

“Well, bye Akaashi!” said Bokuto, waving and smiling and stepping backwards all at the same time. Akaashi waited, knowing what was about to happen, and then Bokuto was tripping over his own feet, yelping, and falling onto the grass.

“Bokuto-san.” sighed Akaashi before helping Bokuto up. Their hands gripped each other and Akaashi felt something in his chest _move_. He jerked back, his breath lost in his panic to get away, to stop himself from tackling Bokuto right then and there because his hand felt so nice and Akaashi wasn’t so sure he would’ve been able to let go if he hadn’t right then. Bokuto frowned at him.        

"Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah.” said Akaashi cursing at the stutter. “Your hand just shocked me.”

“Ohoho?” Bokuto grinned. Akaashi felt his eyelids wander back down into their usual position. “I shocked you, eh? I must be electrifyingly hot!”

“Good night, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi turned, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets to find a key, and to maybe hide his hands too, and walked to the door.

 "Aw, Akaashi!”

Akaashi stepped inside and felt the air rush out of him. He needed this to stop. Bokuto might be clueless but he wasn’t dumb. Sooner or later he would find out and Akaashi would have to deal with the revulsion and hatred.

He wished he liked girls. He wished he liked _no one_. He wished he wasn’t some disgusting _thing._ He had heard about some boy in the year below who had been outed as gay a few months before. The students wouldn’t tolerate it and he had been bullied so much that he had to leave school.

Akaashi’s father had talked about it once at dinner,

“God, I can’t imagine the boy’s parents. They must be devastated.”

 _Why?_ Akaashi wanted to ask, he had known then of course, what he was, but he didn’t know how his parents had felt towards this sort of thing.

"Gah, to be _gay_.” spat his father. “I can’t believe people like those exist.”

Akaashi existed, he existed so much it hurt, and he was so real that sometimes he wished he wasn’t. He hated being gay. His father would kick him out of the house, would abandon him on the streets if he found out. Akaashi wasn’t sure if he’d be able to take the disgust, the horror in his mother’s eyes, the tears that would drown her face once she realized her son was a disgusting monster who felt things that shouldn’t be felt.

He imagined it’d be worse with the team. They would kick him off; afraid he would attack someone in the changing rooms. Bokuto would become silent around him and Akaashi had now become so used to all the noise that he was so afraid of the quiet. Bokuto would stop talking to him. Bokuto would stop coming to his house.

Akaashi would be alone, just like before, before high school, before volleyball. He would lose Bokuto and volleyball, and somehow over the past two years those two things had become his _everything_.

He felt like throwing up.

 ***

The next day Akaashi skipped school. He had never done it before but he wasn’t ready to face Bokuto. Not after his panicked reaction towards their hands touching. Not with the words _disgustin_ g _you are disgusting_ , running through his head.

He lay in bed all day, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the buzzing from his phone. It was probably Bokuto; Akaashi didn’t really text anyone else.

Maybe he could get rid of it; the thing inside him that made him like boys.

Maybe he could survive one more year of school without Bokuto. He would still have volleyball. And if he still liked Bokuto after he left, then he would tell him, outside of school, far away from his own life. And then, if Bokuto didn’t accept his feelings, well at least Akaashi wouldn’t have to see him at school every day. Akaashi knew that if he asked, Bokuto wouldn’t tell anyone, not even Kuroo.

“Keiji?” His mother. She was a beautiful woman, soft spoken. His father didn’t deserve her. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.” Akaashi sat up, trying to look sicker than he actually was. He was sick; technically, being gay… it was a disease according to his father.

“How are you feeling?” His mother touched his forehead. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” Akaashi pulled back before his mother could realize he wasn’t hot at all. “I think I’ll be going to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good.” She smiled. “Bokuto, has been calling me too, did you know?”

“How does he have your number?” said Akaashi shocked.

“Oh, I gave it to him some time ago, for emergencies.” laughed his mother. Her laugh reminded Akaashi of homemade rice cakes, riding his bike alongside long legs, and trips to Tokyo when the sun was just perfect. “Don’t worry. He’s just worried.”

“I’ll text him.”

Akaashi didn’t. He stared at the screen for ages, wondering what he could possibly say to all the messages of:

_whr r YOU!!1!!!!1_

His fingers rubbed against the pad but every starting word was either too casual or too polite. He had never had this problem before. He had never felt so incompetent. How long had he liked this boy? Weeks? Months? Why was it only hitting him now?

Akaashi put the phone back on his nightstand. Maybe Bokuto would visit. Sometimes he would just walk in with Akaashi after practice, no invitation needed. He would come over during vacation, come on the weekends, ask for help with homework even though Akaashi was a year below, ask for extra practice, and sometimes he would come just to talk or watch TV. Akaashi, out of all people, was chosen by Bokuto. A day without Bokuto, Akaashi had never experienced it.

That day, Bokuto didn’t come over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I love Akaashi I do.  
> WARNING: There will be child abuse in this chapter as well as homophobic slurs. Please do not read unless you are comfortable. If you want you can stop reading at "His father’s eyes narrowed. " and skip to "volleyball in hand"

Bokuto thought he had it all planned out. He would just tell Akaashi he liked him more than he liked owls… or something like that. He would _tell_ him, which was the main thing. But after their hands had touched the other night, after Akaashi had jerked away with wide eyes, Bokuto wasn’t too sure the feelings would be reciprocated.

It wasn’t like Bokuto was afraid or anything. Rejection was something he could handle, although he had never really been rejected before. It wasn’t like he confessed to people on a daily basis. Crap.

“I jus don unnersa-“Bokuto was telling Kuroo. They were sitting outside, eating mochi, waiting for Kenma to finally pick his new video game with the birthday money given to him by his parents.

“Chew first. Talk later.” said Kuroo, waving his hand, his mochi already finished. Bokuto could sense his longing for another one by the way he kept glancing at the store across the street and also at Bokuto’s mochi. Bokuto swallowed quickly.

“I just don’t understand why his reaction to our hands touching was jumping back like I had just shot him.”

“Well,” said Kuroo slowly, because Kuroo liked to drawl, liked to let each word settle in before moving on to the next. “Maybe your hand was sweaty. Or smelly. You’re a little ugly which could be it.”

“Do you think he… hates gay people?” No. He couldn’t. Akaashi didn’t hate. He was too soft, too pure for that. He was curved lines and lidded eyes. He was so beautiful that sometimes Bokuto had to think about someone ugly during practice to balance it out and not die from Akaashi’s face.

He usually thought of Kuroo.

“Nah.” Kuroo rolled back his shoulders. “And even if he did. I’m sure you could change his mind.”

“I don’t want a supportive friend,” argued Bokuto. “I want a lover.”

“L-Lover?” spat Kuroo before throwing his head back, roaring with laughter.

“Lover. Someone to be the big spoon and help me dye my hair.” said Bokuto firmly; not at all amused at the way Kuroo fell onto his back, clutching at his stomach. “It’s not funny.”

“It so is. How old are you? Who says lover?” Kuroo stayed on his back, chuckling at the sky, his arms moving behind his head. “Also why do you want to be the _little_ spoon?”

“My arm won’t fall asleep.” explained Bokuto. “Also he won’t feel my boner in the morning.”

“Oh my god.” said Kuroo. Bokuto, quickly before Kuroo could blink, reached out and tickled Kuroo’s unprotected stomach. Yelping, Kuroo rolled away, his arms waving, knocking Bokuto’s mochi out of his hands.

“My mochi!” cried Bokuto.

“You deserved it.” said Kuroo, standing up, brushing off the dirt from his pants, trying to look as dignified as one could after squealing.

“You traitor.” growled Bokuto. He scrambled for his leftover mochi, cradling it in his hands. “My precious, precious mochi. I will avenge you.”

He softly placed the mochi on the ground, stood up, and was promptly tackled by Kuroo.

“WHAT THE HELL?” yelled Bokuto.

“I had to do it before you could. An opponent must always be prepared.” Kuroo informed him as he dug his knees into Bokuto’s sides, his hands gripping his arms tightly to prevent him from waving them around.

“RELEASE ME!”

“Kuroo. I’m done.” said Kenma softly, stepping out of the shop, his hands wrapped around a plastic bag. He didn’t look at all concerned at Bokuto’s struggle to be let out from Kuroo’s evil clutches. Kuroo glanced up.

“Oh.”

Before Bokuto could yell again Kuroo was off of him and walking towards Kenma, fixing his clothes.

“How fucking dare you.” muttered Bokuto. He stood up, threw his mochi away with tears in his eyes, (“ARE YOU CRYING?” Kuroo roared with more laughter) and followed Kenma and Kuroo.

“How do I tell him?” moaned Bokuto after a block of walking. “You know he wasn’t in school today. You think he’s ignoring me? He hasn’t responded to any of my messages. He _hates_ me. He hates _gay people_.”

“Calm down, Bokuto.” said Kuroo, rolling his eyes. “If Akaashi hated you it would be because of your personality, not your sexuality.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Kuroo smirked.

“Kenma, what do you think?” asked Bokuto, glancing down at the boy who was already playing his new game, engrossed in a new world.

“Hmm?” hummed Kenma.

“About Akaashi! Liking me!”

“He does.”

“WHAT? SERIOUSLY?”

“Kenma didn’t mean it like that you idiot.” said Kuroo. “He isn’t even paying attention.”

“Oh.” Bokuto’s shoulders drooped.

“Look, just tell him, worse thing that happens is he doesn’t like you back. He won’t hate you. I can promise you that.” sighed Kuroo, running a hand through his hair.

Bokuto thought about their first game, his first win with Akaashi. The way the ball just kept coming and coming to him. The way he didn’t miss a shot. Akaashi’s smile at the end of the game. That had been first time Bokuto had seen it.

He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t lose Akaashi. Bokuto was brash; he didn’t think before speaking, he was the kind of boy who would jump off of a bridge for a dare before realizing he could seriously die halfway down. And for once… he couldn’t be that person; he couldn’t shut his head up, couldn’t stop thinking about all the scenarios that could happen. He couldn’t take the risk and lose his best friend.   

Akaashi was the only one who could handle Bokuto for long periods of time. The only one who put up with his loud voice, waving arms, and rash decisions. He was the boy who looked at Bokuto with soft eyes not exasperated ones. He was the one to listen to Bokuto’s endless prattle about owls and volleyball and how much he hated math. And he actually _heard_ Bokuto, didn’t ignore him like the others, didn’t indulge him in conversation. Akaashi cared, more than anyone else had. Even Kuroo couldn’t always handle Bokuto.

Bokuto couldn’t imagine leaving school. School without Akaashi. Volleyball without Akaashi. Spring High was getting closer and after that he would be gone, along with the other third years. Akaashi would become captain, would move on with his life, and forget about Bokuto. And if that was going to happen then Bokuto wouldn’t dare end it early with something as trivial as his own feelings. They didn’t matter. They would never matter if it meant even the slightest chance of losing Akaashi.

Bokuto checked his phone, scrolled through all the messages he had sent Akaashi. No reply. His mother had said Akaashi was just sick and that he should come and visit. Bokuto glanced up.

There it was. Akaashi’s house. It was four blocks down from Bokuto’s. They had walked home together almost every day ever since Akaashi had joined the team as one of the reserves, since they had linked up as setter and ace. Bokuto remembered the sudden joy he had felt when he had seen Akaashi’s back that one night, the sudden elation that he wouldn’t have to walk home alone. There it was.

He could walk in right now. Let Kuroo and Kenma be on their way. Talk to Akaashi about his day and how practice had been awful and how he needed to get better _now_. He was sure if he saw Akaashi he would be able to determine whether or not Akaashi was avoiding him (and if he hated him). Prove to himself that Akaashi would like him no matter what.

He kept walking.

 ***

Akaashi felt Bokuto’s eyes the moment he stepped into the building. He felt the hesitance, the brief, _should I call out?_ from him. And it made him feel like shit.

Akaashi got his books, and turned to where Bokuto was-

Hiding?

He was standing behind a pillar, peering out every few moments, with large eyes. Akaashi sighed. He wondered when exactly he realized how much he liked – no, loved – Bokuto. He can’t pinpoint the moment anywhere. It was just that one day he thought of Bokuto as an emotionally unstable captain who knew how to hit balls, and the next he couldn’t stop thinking about his smile and his laugh and those godamned toned arms.

“Bokuto-san? What are you doing?”

 “N-Nothing!” Bokuto strolled towards him, arms swinging in half circles. “How are you now?”

Akaashi frowned. Since when had Bokuto ever been polite? He shrugged and started walking to his class. He would have to go early and talk to his teacher about making up his work and he knew he couldn’t do that with all of his other classmates in the room. Bokuto kept pace with him.

“Practice was awful.” blabbered Bokuto. “I’m glad you’re coming today. Actually, I have to tell you something. Today. After practice! If you’re not busy. Are you busy?”

Oh no. Akaashi glanced at Bokuto but found nothing but a large grin and spiky hair. Did he know? If Akaashi refused to meet up that could confirm whatever Bokuto’s thoughts were, not to mention that even if Akaashi had plans today Bokuto could just ask for the next day. He couldn’t have plans every night for the rest of the year.

He couldn’t really avoid this conversation.

"I’m not busy.”

“G-Good!” Bokuto smiled. The bell rang and Akaashi regretted coming to school.

 ***

It was almost comical how much Akaashi’s father liked to put him down. He was constantly doing something wrong. He practiced volleyball too much. He never got the perfect scores. He had never dated a girl.    

Akaashi knew this was all to help him, to help him do the best in life. His father only meant well. Akaashi’s mother would always tell him,

“He loves you; he just isn’t very good at showing it.”

The most important thing though was that his father never did it in public. It was always in the confines of their home, with the walls to block the noise, with the curtains drawn to mask the anger and fear.

So when Akaashi and Bokuto were walking towards his home after practice, Bokuto blabbering on about one thing or another, Akaashi’s ears ringing with, _I have to tell you something_ ; he didn’t expect to see his own father, stumbling towards them under a streetlamp.  Akaashi’s hand brushed Bokuto’s and for a second Akaashi thought about grabbing it and running. Or maybe just running. Because his father was most definitely drunk and most definitely heading towards him with angry eyes.

Bokuto faltered as well,

“Is that…?”

Akaashi didn’t respond. Maybe if he stood very still and made no noise his father wouldn’t see him. Sometimes it worked if his father was about to pass out drunk.            

“Keiji!” slurred his father, _shouted_ his father, “Is that you?”

“Akaashi?” murmured Bokuto.

He could lie. He could say that his father had gotten the wrong person. He could not show up at home, forget about his mother, and hide out at Bokuto’s place for the rest of the year. Akaashi glanced at Bokuto, the concern in his eyes, and had to look away. His hands were shaking, so much that Bokuto actually grabbed his fingers to keep them from moving. Warmth shot up hand, for a split second Akaashi was safe and in this moment he wasn’t going to get hurt. He sighed but as quietly as he could. Bokuto was being a good friend, nothing more.

“Keiji?” His father came closer, squinting. His eyes were on their hands. “A-Are you…?”

Crap. No. No. Akaashi’s eyes widened as his father’s did. He jerked his hand away, shaking his head, raising his hands, backing up, one step, another one, just one more. A little bit further. His father’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you gay?” He whispered, horror shining through. Bokuto—

Akaashi couldn’t look at him. He shook his head, promise in his eyes; if he truly believed it then he wouldn’t be gay. He could move on with his life, get a wife, have kids, and forget about the way it felt when Bokuto’s fingers clutched at his own.

A hand grabbed at his collar and Akaashi was suddenly too close to dark eyes and a drunken breath. Akaashi didn’t breath; it wasn’t too hard. His head jerked forward and then back as his father shook him violently.

“ARE YOU?” screamed his father. Akaashi closed his eyes. There it was. The disgust. “TELL ME!”

“I—“

“HEY!” Akaashi’s chest caved in on itself. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

“Excuse me?” Akaashi was released. He stumbled back, staring, horrified, as his father turned to Bokuto with almost delightful hatred. “Who do you think you’re talking to, fag?”

Bokuto faltered. He hadn’t faced this sort of aggressive, blind hatred before. People liked Bokuto. People tolerated Bokuto. People didn’t hate Bokuto. Akaashi’s heart was being crushed.

“Don’t. You. Talk. To. _Me_.” spat his father. “I don’t speak to filthy queers like you.”

“F-Father—“

“You!” Akaashi stepped back. “You just wait till we get home. I’m going to _beat_ the gay out of you.”

“Akaashi—“

“No.” Akaashi let his lips turn up slightly. He turned to Bokuto and warmed his gaze enough to let him know. He lowered his voice so only Bokuto could hear. “I’ll be fine. He’s going to pass out the moment we get home. Don’t worry.”                

“Let me just come to your house.” Bokuto stepped forward. Akaashi glanced at Bokuto’s clenched hands.

“I think,” said Akaashi, “it’d be better if you—“

“Stop talking to each other!” roared his father. Akaashi flinched as his father grabbed his arm. The fingers dug into his skin and Akaashi bit his lip. He could do this. Just one night. One more night.

Akaashi didn’t look back as his father dragged him home. He would be fine. He could only hope that Bokuto didn’t follow him home.

They stumbled inside his house, Akaashi kicking off his own shoes while his father kept his on. They reached the living room and his father stumbled to the couch. Akaashi was about to run to his room, shut the door, put a chair near the knob, and stay up all night shaking. But his father wouldn’t let him off that easy.              

Akaashi had only moved his right foot before a hand was wrapping around his wrist. He looked down at his father, his glaring, panting father.

“Where do you think you’re going faggot?” snarled his father. Akaashi tried to pull away slightly but the fingers tightened enough to bruise. He flinched right before the fist hit his face. The punch forced him back a step, shot pain up the bridge of his nose and into the bone that lay right below his eye. He blinked out the tears that had sprung up in his eyes. “No wonder you never had a girlfriend. No wonder you’re always staying at practice so late. It was so you could stare as those boys as they changed.”

 “I wasn’t—“

“You were probably fucking that boy who left your school weren’t you? You turned him gay, didn’t you?” roared his father. And Akaashi was a cowering animal, a horrible _thing_ , in his father’s eyes. He was nothing, worthless, a piece of garbage that kept staining his father’s hands. Something grabbed his collar, forced him onto his toes, Akaashi closed his eyes and waited for the next blow.

“AKAASHI!”

Shit. Akaashi opened his eyes to see Bokuto sprinting into the house, volleyball in hand. The ball went flying through the air before Akaashi could say a word and smashed into his father’s head. And while his father’s head was hard, the volleyball was harder, and he passed out on the couch after a second of shocked silence. Akaashi stumbled onto his heels. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it would break his ribs.  

“Are you alright? Are you okay? I can’t believe he hit you!” rambled Bokuto. His hands brushed the hair from Akaashi’s eyes, his thumb pressing lightly to the skin below Akaashi’s eye. Akaashi hissed.

"Bokuto-san. He was about to pass out anyways.”

“The bastard passed out because I hit the bastard.” said Bokuto irritated—no, _furious_. When had Akaashi ever seen something like that on his face? “ _God_. He hit you. And you don’t even seem surprised.”

“He does it sometimes.” whispered Akaashi. He was afraid that if he raised his voice something would crack, like his voice, or him. “When he’s drunk.”

There was a pause. A moment in which Bokuto realized that Akaashi was a little more broken than he had thought, that a black eye was only on the surface and beneath was a bleeding heart, shattered organs.

“Let’s get some ice.” said Bokuto softly, quiet in the edge of the house, a hushed whisper that wrapped around Akaashi and left him stiff. So even Bokuto could whisper.

They were in the kitchen; Akaashi leaning against the counter as Bokuto pressed ice into his eye. Akaashi had protested for a moment, saying that he could put ice against his own skin, but Bokuto’s eyes were a little brighter than usual, and his mouth was quivering with something that couldn’t be laughter, so Akaashi had fallen silent.

They had left the lights off in the kitchen and so Akaashi was content to know that his red skin wouldn’t be revealed. He pressed his shaking fingers against his legs.

“I’m alright.” said Akaashi because Bokuto was quiet and he didn’t like that. “Please don’t worry.”

“I’m always going to worry.” said Bokuto.

Akaashi didn’t know what to say.

“Are you gay?” asked Bokuto after a moment. Something shifted in Akaashi’s chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. If he had to pick, he’d rather be beaten by his father again than answer this question. Because being hated by his father didn’t hurt as much as the possibility of being hated by Bokuto. He couldn’t lie though, not to Bokuto, never to Bokuto.

“Yes.”  

“Me too.”

“I-what?” Akaashi jerked away from the ice and smacked his head on the cabinet behind him. Bokuto couldn’t be gay. This had to be a lie. He was lying to make him feel better. Obviously. That would be something Bokuto would do. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better Bokuto-san.”

“Huh?” Bokuto frowned. “Lying? Why would I be lying?”  

“BOKUTO? AKAASHI!”

Akaashi jumped and looked at the living room in a panic. _Please_ , Akaashi thought, _don’t wake up_.

Bokuto glanced at Akaashi’s lips.

“In here.” said Bokuto, loudly, loud enough to make Akaashi glance back at his father’s prone figure.

"Don’t worry.” said Bokuto. “I won’t let him touch you.” He handed him the ice pack. Their fingers brushed. Akaashi wanted to hit something, like himself.

Kuroo burst into the kitchen, panting,

“What the fuck?”

“You’re a little late.” said Bokuto smugly.             

“Yeah I can see that.” snarled Kuroo. He eyed Akaashi.

Akaashi and Kuroo didn’t have much in common other than Bokuto and volleyball. They knew each other from the training camps and tournaments but it wasn’t as if they talked on a daily basis. Yet it didn’t stop Akaashi from feeling grateful for Kuroo coming to his supposed rescue, though he wondered when Bokuto had called Kuroo over in the first place.

“Are you okay?” Kuroo nodded towards Akaashi’s bruised face. Akaashi nodded and pressed the ice back onto his cheek.

“So what happened exactly?” asked Kuroo.

“His dad punched him.” explained Bokuto.

“Fuck.”

“I threw a volleyball at his head.”

“Nice.” Kuroo frowned. “Where’s your mom?”

“Her room.” Akaashi shrugged. They both knew that when his father got drunk it was better to just avoid him. It was a common occurrence for punches to fly if one angered his father during his drunken state; which incidentally could be anything like standing too close to the door or breathing too heavily.

“So she lets this happen?” asked Bokuto. There was something in his voice that made Akaashi frown. He shrugged and hoped it would be enough.

“Huh.” Kuroo taps his fingers against the table.

Akaashi pressed the ice into his skin harder.

 ***

“I could stay over.” offered Bokuto. They were both standing in the front entrance, Kuroo standing a few feet away.

“It’s alright. Thank you.” said Akaashi. While his father wouldn’t remember much of the night Akaashi couldn’t take the chance. Waking up, hungover, to find Bokuto sleeping on the floor of Akaashi’s room wouldn’t do much for Akaashi’s case if his father even remembered a piece of the night before. Not to mention that Akaashi wasn’t really sure if he could spend a night in such close vicinity with Bokuto without wanting to kiss him or punch him or cry.

“Akaashi,” started Bokuto. “If you ever need a place to go. I'm here for you. And... and there's nothing wrong with being gay, don't you ever think of yourself as something wrong. You're perfect, you know? Like an owl.” Bokuto smiles.

“Bokuto-san—“

“Good night!” Bokuto grinned before jogging off to join Kuroo who slapped him hard on the back. Bokuto cursed and shoved Kuroo to the side. The two disappeared into the night and Akaashi was left standing on his footstep feeling like he could cry.

Two minutes later, Akaashi went to his mother’s room, sat on the edge of the bed, and tapped her shoulder. She stirred.

“Keiji?” whispered his mother. “What’s wrong? Wh-What happened to you?”  

“Father.” whispered Akaashi, ducking his head so his mother’s reaching hands could brush his cheek. He felt like it was obvious who had caused the bruise but the question had to be asked so they could still maintain this false pretense that his father didn’t do this so often. “Father happened.”

“Oh.” The sound was kind of shoved into the air as if she had nothing else to say but felt the need to try. She never really knew how to handle her abusive husband. He used to hit her too before Akaashi realized that he could do something about it. Before Akaashi decided he would protect her at all costs and would always get in the way before his mother could. He would push her into her room and try to gain his attention, would suffer the hits, the slaps, the words.

_You turned him gay, didn’t you?_

“Mom,” said Akaashi. He had to tell her. What if his father told her when Akaashi wasn’t there? What if he convinced her that Akaashi should be shipped off to some boarding school where they could _fix_ him?

(Maybe he needed to be fixed.)

“You need to do something about him.” said Akaashi. He winced. That was not what he had meant to say. His mother sat up slowly and frowned.

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi stared at his hands. They weren’t shaking for once.

“I mean. He’s… he’s drinking a lot. Right?” said Akaashi. _That can’t be good for his health_ , he thought about saying. The skin below his eye began to throb. Why hadn't they ever talked about this?

“He is, but that’s your father.” She chuckled nervously. She was in denial. Akaashi tried to imagine what it was like to have to sleep next to the man who beat his own kid and wide and got drunk on Tuesdays.

It wasn’t as if his father had always been this way though. Once upon a time, Akaashi’s father would cook the dinner, play with his son, and laugh with his wife. Once upon a time, Akaashi’s father was a father who didn’t drink, who thought violence was never the option, and could only think about making his family happy.

He hadn’t started drinking until Akaashi’s last year of junior high. (Akaashi never could figure out what had started the drinking in the first place. He never asked his mother.) He hadn’t started hitting him and his mother until a year later.

Akaashi’s father had always been harsh lines and sharp angles. He would tell his son to be better because that was what to strive for. Better. Not worse. He was a gruff man with a shaved chin, thinning hair, and thin stature.

He was Akaashi’s father and sometimes Akaashi hated him so much he felt ashamed.

“I don’t think he’s in a good place anymore.” said Akaashi. His mother was curved hips and long eyelashes. She was the warmth of lilacs in the winter and spices in the summer. She used to have flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Now she would carry bruised wrists and deep circles beneath her eyes and Akaashi would feel like punching a wall until his fist broke. (Punching his father until his fist broke.) “I think he needs help.”

"He doesn’t need help.” She said firmly. “Keiji, I don’t want to hear this from you again.”

“But—“

"Please, go to sleep, and don’t wake him up.”

Akaashi didn’t go to sleep. He paced his room, finished his homework, and cleaned everything up until nothing but air and his own two feet brushed the ground and furniture. He took a long hot shower, stood in his room –in boxers—for five minutes, so his skin would cool down and stop itching. He laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling until he knew every crack by heart. Eventually, he checked his phone for messages and found three from Bokuto:

_r u alrite?_

_u can com ovr if u want_

_i want 2 kik ur dads ass is that ok???_

Akaashi smiled and messaged him back:

_I am alright Bokuto-san; I don’t need to come over._

Akaashi watched the sunrise. He was already ready for school and was out the door the moment he heard his father stirring. He ducked through the window and headed away from his house. He was so early that the doors weren’t even open when he got there. Reaching down to get his phone, Akaashi opened his messages, and sent one more.

_Yes, it’s okay._

Being vice-captain of the volleyball team did have its perks though. Akaashi had his own pair of keys to open the doors to the court. He went inside, got a rack of balls, and began serving them over the net. Sweat trickled down his neck, the tie around his collar loosened over time, and his shirt became untucked. He hit the ball over and over and over—

Akaashi had reached a point in his second year where he wasn’t living through time like the others did. He lived through every moment. One more day to handle, one more hour to experience, one more minute to sit through, one more second until it was over.

His eyes ached.

Before he knew it he was the ground - had he fallen? - staring at the ceiling of the gym, wondering if skipping another day of school would help him or not. His father didn’t usually hit his face, and there wasn't anymore of his mom's makeup. The deep bruise under his eye felt larger than it really was, as if his whole face was painted in purple and yellow. Everyone would notice. They'd whisper and point and his teammates would come up to him and ask, no, demand. And now Bokuto knew. Kuroo knew. Odds were Kenma would find out today. Right into practice coach would be calling Akaashi away from practice and talking to him with soothing words and a low voice. They would talk to officials. His mother would cry and scream and slap him. His father would leave in cuffs and red eyes. Akaashi would roam the streets, trying to not feel guilty.

“Akaashi?” It was Bokuto. Akaashi sighed and sat up. “What’re you doing here?”

“I came early.” Akaashi stood up. “So I’m practicing.” continued Akaashi. He caught Bokuto staring at his eye, a shift in his jaw - anger bit back. Akaashi swallowed, it was worse now in the day, under the bright lights of the gym. Bokuto's eyes slid up quickly and he grinned (though something in his eyes weren't as happy as his smile and Akaashi wondered if it was him, if Bokuto was mad at him for living this life and telling no one).

“That’s great! That’s the attitude we need to crush everyone during Training Camp!” Bokuto strolled over to Akaashi with eyes that made Akaashi feel like they should leave the court now and head to school immediately. “Let’s practice together!”

“School’s going to start soon.” That wasn't true. School wouldn't start for another hour. But Bokuto never came to school early. He came right before the bell rang. Meaning he had come early on purpose. Meaning Akaashi should leave before he does something stupid. “I’m going to clean up and then leave. You should too.”

“Come on!” groaned Bokuto. “We have hours!”

(Akaashi couldn’t help but feel glad that Bokuto was completely disregarding the events of the previous night.)

Akaashi ignored him and went about picking up balls. The shirt stuck to his back and Akaashi resisted the urge to take a shower. He probably stunk. He probably should. But then he’d be even later to class and that would be on his record and his father might find out. There was enough to deal with as it there was.

“AKAASHI!” groaned Bokuto, but he made his way to pick up the balls near his feet.

Once they had finished cleaning up, Akaashi locked the doors to the court, and instead of heading for the school he sat down on the steps. Bokuto followed hesitant.

“Thank you Bokuto-san.”

“You really need to drop the _san_.” Bokuto ran a hand through his hair, his eyes crinkling above his grin. Akaashi turned his head to hide the twitch of his lips. They sat there in silence, surprisingly Bokuto could be quiet, until the bell rang. Akaashi wanted to cry for some reason. Bokuto, quietly sitting next to him, made his heart twist, his stomach flop. He couldn't forget the anger in his voice the night before. _I won't let him hurt you._

He was half way down the hall to his own classroom. A tremble traveled its way up his back; he didn’t want to stand under the stares of his classmates, the hushes as they noticed his black eye.

He could just skip the whole day, could just hide out in the library or bathroom or go back to the court and practice till his lungs were pressed up against his chest, till his eyes burned with sweat, until that part inside of him that made him like boys just went away, forgotten in the whirlwind of volleyball.

“OI! Akaashi!” said Bokuto loudly. Akaashi couldn’t imagine his own voice reaching that sort of volume. He turned around, wary. Bokuto studied him for a moment. “Wanna ditch?”

Akaashi was one door away from his classroom. His nails were digging into his palms and he thought that Bokuto knew him a little better than he had thought. 

_***_

They didn’t really leave the school. In the end Akaashi was too cautious to leave the grounds; too hesitant with the idea that a teacher would catch them, so they ended up going back to the courts.

The balls were brought out again and ties were loosened. Bokuto had ripped off his shirt entirely and was bouncing around in an undershirt. Akaashi tried not to stare at his back, or the biceps, his curved spine as he bent down to tighten his shoelace. His ass.

“I’ve never practiced in a school uniform! This is gonna be awesome!” crowed Bokuto. Akaashi rubbed his forehead.

“If you’re too loud, we’ll be caught.” said Akaashi. Immediately the noise shrunk, the sudden quiet flashed Akaashi back to a year ago, when his father had finally passed out after punching Akaashi in the stomach too many times to count.

He remembered lying on the carpet of his living room, the abrupt slap of silence, the pressure on his stomach like the air was trying to force its way _through_ him. There was his mother, standing in the kitchen, with hands over her mouth, eyes so wide that Akaashi was sure he could push a coin through both.

“-aashi?” Akaashi jerked and the sudden lights from above became a bit too bright. He sat down abruptly, the sudden thunk shooting a brief and sharp pain up his back.

"I’m fine.” said Akaashi for no reason other than to get the words out. If he said them maybe he would feel them. If the world could hear that he was fine maybe they’d all leave him alone.

“I can still kick his ass.” offered Bokuto. It wasn’t a mystery whose ass he was talking about. His voice was loud, but not enough. Bokuto was noise. He was loud even when he was quiet – if that made any sense.

That could have been one of the reasons why Akaashi loved him. Bokuto had the ability to take the quiet and make it _vibrate_. He didn’t let Akaashi brood in his thoughts for too long because he couldn’t stop moving or talking or being _alive_. He had dragged Akaashi out of his world of shaking limbs and hesitant steps.

“Thank you.” Akaashi leaned on his palms, his legs folding out. “But it won’t change anything.”

“You can always stay with me.” Bokuto sat down next to him, the space between their legs, between their hands, between their skin, was so _there_ that to Akaashi it was palpable. If he just moved a little bit _there_ and Bokuto just moved a little bit _here_ they could be touching.

Akaashi really was pathetic. And super gay.

“I know. But my mother…” Akaashi wondered what would happen if he did take Bokuto’s offer. Would his mother just become a punching bag? Would she eventually be worn out, each stitch pulled away, every thread becoming bare? _Let’s stop there,_ thought Akaashi.

“Akaashi…” Bokuto’s fingers tapped against the floor. The rhythm somehow linked up with Akaashi’s heart, or maybe it was the other way around. Akaashi waited. “About last night, when I told you I was gay… Why did you think I was lying?”

“I—“Akaashi stared at the ceiling and then his own hand, a mere second away from Bokuto’s, “I don’t need any pity. I don’t want it.”

“What?”

“My father, all my life, has told me what to do, how to be better, how to strive until there was more to strive for. He told me what was normal and what was not.” Akaashi took a deep breath. “I don’t need his disgust but I’ll get it anyways. I have to deal with him enough as it is and I don’t want your sympathy along with it.”

“Because you’re gay?”

“Because I’m me. Disgusting.” said Akaashi as firmly as he could, but Bokuto was right. It was because he was gay, because he wasn’t the normal son his father had always wanted. “Because I’m not right.”

“Bullshit.” said Bokuto. Akaashi looked at him, surprised at the reverent way Bokuto had said it. “You are so _right_ your dad’s blind if he can’t see that.”

“Bokuto-san.” Heat made its way up his neck, wrapped itself around his ears and settled down.

“If you’re not right, then I’m not right either.” said Bokuto so stubbornly that Akaashi could feel something thump down into his stomach. He looked at the ground. He couldn’t look at Bokuto when he looked like that. So passionate that his eyes were shining, his hands clenched into fists ready to be thrown into the air. It was possible that his hair was sticking up even further than normal.

“I—“

“I don’t pity you. I would never pity you.” continued Bokuto. Akaashi wanted –needed—him to shut up. “You’re not disgusting. And your dad is an asshole.”

Akaashi turned to him and found that Bokuto’s face was right there, his nose poking right into Akaashi’s space, his eyes so fierce that he could’ve been staring into Akaashi’s soul itself. The world sort of… zoomed in on Bokuto’s face. There was neither court nor school, no angry father nor blind mother, no throbbing skin, no pounding hearts.

“I—what?” murmured Akaashi. He wasn’t staring at Bokuto’s mouth. No. Not at the way the lips pursed a little up and the tiny mole that sat right to the left of his bottom lip.

“Your dad,” said Bokuto so softly that if Akaashi hadn’t been staring at his lips he wouldn’t have heard anything “is an asshole. And I'm going to help you.”  

"But... is it bad? That I want him out of my life? That I... hate him sometimes?" Akaashi whispers, hands shaking. "He's my _father_."

"Even your parents can be bad people sometimes." Bokuto replied gently, "It's okay to protect yourself. You aren't the bad person."

"I don't want him to go. He's my dad. I... do care about him."

"Your dad needs help and you're the only one who can do that for him." Bokuto brushes his cheek. "It's not wrong to care for you father. But if he's hurting you, you don't deserve that. No one deserves that." 

"Will he hate me? For doing this?" 

"Maybe at first. But after he gets the treatment he needs, he'll be so grateful. Anyone would be grateful to have you in their life Akaashi." 

And then they were kissing. Lips and lips and warm breath and soft gasping. Hands gripping the court and then fingers, sliding up skin, right up the jaw, and into the soft fluff that was hair. Hips turning, flushed cheeks, eyes fluttering and noses brushing.

Akaashi pulled back slightly, breathing like he did when there was a game and the balls kept coming to his hands, kept bouncing between him and Bokuto and the floor of the court. His hand rested at the nape of Bokuto’s neck.

Bokuto’s eyes were still closed, his eyelashes so long that Akaashi was sure they tickled Bokuto every time he blinked. 

“Idiot.” murmured Akaashi. Bokuto’s eyes popped open, shining, so happy that Akaashi could feel a smile make its way to his own lips. Bokuto laughed. "You'll be here? The whole time?" 

"I'll always be here." 

Akaashi thought that if this is what it felt like to be disgusting, to be wrong, to not be enough, then well, screw it. If it was Bokuto, Akaashi would do it a thousand more times. He would go to his father and tell him to stop, would convince his mother to leave the man who had abused them for years, and would hold Bokuto’s hand and kiss his cheek and learn to accept himself.

Bokuto would help, of course. Akaashi had spent years hating himself, forcing himself to stare at girls until he felt something, spent months jerking off to the thought of boys – _Bokuto_ —and then feeling disgust later, puking in the bathroom, and lying on the floor beside his sink sobbing about what he had just done.

Akaashi felt fingers wrap around his own. He fought down the initial self-disgust.

Bokuto would help. He was the loudness that strummed in Akaashi, the movement that shook his feet, the cadence that had stormed across his heart and stomped on his ribs.  

Akaashi would learn to love himself just like he loved Bokuto.

“Can we practice now?” asked Bokuto, a grin in his voice and his eyes and on his lips.

_Why not?_

 


End file.
